Unwise Career Choices
by depizan
Summary: Ficlets from the career of Kyrian, an Imperial Agent who really isn't suited to his line of work. Unless one is supposed to leave a trail of live people across the galaxy.
1. A Question of Success

**A Question of Success**

Had he been wrong? Should he have obeyed orders, followed the scenario to the letter, trusted in the fail-safes of the training exercise? Intelligence training _was_ dangerous. People did die, though not often. And they did get injured.

 _Obviously._ Kyrian's face throbbed at the reminder, a nasty counterpoint to his other aches.

He stared out across the jungle below. Climbing onto the barracks roof had hurt, but there were few places in the training base where one could get privacy, and none of the others were outside. The air was misty, but for once it wasn't actually raining. His uniform was – limitedly – waterproof, anyway. It had to be on Dromund Kaas.

 _I didn't put anyone else at risk, and I didn't disregard orders, not really; I just found another way._ And it had worked. Mostly. His injuries weren't serious, just painful, and he had succeeded. Wasn't that what mattered? Didn't Intelligence _want_ creativity?

 _Not from trainees._

It was arrogance. He'd acted as if he knew better than the Instructors. If he had a military background, like some of the older trainees, that might have been forgivable. Not from an orphanage recruit who asked too many questions.

What was the point of half their classes if they weren't supposed to use what they learned? Stealth and persuasion and infiltration. _That wasn't the point of_ this _exercise._ Practicing straightforward methods, however brutal at times, was just as important.

 _But it worked._

If it hadn't, it would have been the end of his career, before it had even started. That much had been clear. If he screwed up again, he was finished. If his chances of becoming a field agent weren't finished anyway.

The cut on his face would scar, as would the ones on his arm and shoulder. That was the point – or half the point – of barring him from all but the most basic (and archaic) of medical treatment for them. He could hardly forget the importance of following orders and sticking to the mission as outlined when the results of not doing so stared him in the face every time he looked in a mirror.

The reasoning seemed somewhat over-dramatic for a simple cut. It wasn't as if he were disfigured, just … marked. _Not ideal in a field agent._

Was that it, then? An unspoken punishment – consigning him to a career at Headquarters, analyzing data and watching other people travel the galaxy on exciting missions. _No._ He shook his head. There was no point in yelling at him about following orders, or about the uncertainty of medical care in the field, if he were going to be reassigned to Fixer training.

He put a hand to his bandaged cheek. He would be the most obedient and diligent trainee. No awkward questions, no unapproved creativity, nothing that would jeopardize his career. Once he was out of training, he could do things his way.

 _It did work._ A training exercise wasn't reality. He knew that. Still, success couldn't be _entirely_ wrong.


	2. Perfectly Executed

The guard leaned against the door frame, a cigarra drooping lazily from one corner of his mouth. The lit end glowed brightly in Hutta's grimy twilight, marking his head as well as any laser sight.

Finding a vantage point on the hill above the shabby building Fa'athra's thugs had claimed had been easy. Most of the citizens of Jiguuna were eager to avoid getting caught up in the Hutt conflict and conspicuously ignored anyone who wasn't shooting at them. The last thing they wanted was to see where an off-worlder with a rifle was going.

Kyrian studied the guard through his sights. The man worked for a Hutt. He was probably a terrible person who kicked small animals and stole from children. Certainly he and the others in the building hadn't hesitated to steal the case of valuables Intelligence had sent to Hutta as a means for Kyrian to – in the person of the Red Blade, notorious pirate – gain an audience with Nem'ro the Hutt. Nor would the guard hesitate to use the blaster on his hip to defend the building and its ill-gotten contents.

Jheeg had insisted that they needed to eliminate the thieves to ensure that no one learned of the theft. There could be no doubts about the Red Blade's competence. Or Jheeg's. Keeper seemed like a man who expected missions to run smoothly.

Kyrian wasn't sure what Intelligence did with contacts who failed them, but he had the uncomfortable feeling that they usually knew too much to leave alive. With Fa'athra's thieves dead and the case reclaimed, Jheeg could concentrate on proving that the theft was a fluke and that he was still invaluable to Imperial Intelligence.

The cigarra end flared as the guard drew on it. He was a perfect target. He would never even know what hit him.

Buying the case back had been out of the question – making the offer would only alert the thieves to how valuable the contents were _and_ encourage them to brag about the theft. Stealing it back, however…

Kyrian considered the building. It had a back door – unguarded, he'd checked that already – and the lock was mechanical, likely with no defense against the tiny laser cutter built into his wrist chrono. The case wasn't the only thing the thieves had stolen from the spaceport; they had helped themselves to an entire shuttle's worth of cargo.

 _They'll sort the cargo, decide what's worth selling, and what's worth taking to Fa'athra._ The case was small and nondescript. Whatever else had been on the shuttle had been the target of the theft. If the thieves were distracted, there was a chance he could simply slip in the back door, locate the case, and slip out unnoticed.

Kyrian shouldered his rifle and made his way down the hillside. He couldn't be seen. The Red Blade was lethal and ruthless, not at all the sort of person who quietly retrieved stolen cases. But if the thieves never even knew they'd _had_ the case, Jheeg had nothing to fear, and the mission could go on as planned.

His comm had a setting that amplified sounds. He pressed it to the back door and listened. He could make out the distant sounds of conversation – too distant to be directly behind the door. Another room, most likely.

He took a deep breath. _I'm sorry, Jheeg._

The lock melted like butter. There was no reaction from inside the building. Kyrian eased the door open and slipped into the darkened room.

Aside from a couple of chairs and a stained carpet, the room was empty. Light spilled in through an open doorway from what looked to be a hall. Voices carried down it from the front of the building, not quite loud enough for Kyrian to make out words.

He edged softly to the doorway and peered down the hall.

It ran down the center of the building, closed doors on either side marking other rooms – hopefully unoccupied. The light and voices came from a large room at the front of the building. The hallway at that end was partially blocked by a large military crate and a couple of bolts of shimmery cloth.

Kyrian crept down the hall, crouching low enough that the crate and cloth would hide him from any casual glance. Less than three hours into his first solo field mission and he'd thrown out all good sense and a simple plan that took advantage of his specialized training. His instructors would have had him flogged and thrown out of Intelligence for sheer stupidity. He had only basic stealth training and none of the equipment for it – no stealth suit, no silent grenades or poisoned knives, no darts, no specialized close-quarters weapons.

 _I can do this._ He wouldn't imagine Jheeg, or Keeper, or Instructor Senrit shouting at him. He wouldn't consider the possibility of failure.

There were three men and two women in the room. All human. All armed. None aware of his presence.

The shuttle had been carrying a mix of military hardware and luxury goods. Someone's half of a spice deal, most likely. The case he was after sat next to an open crate of grenades, apparently untouched. And in plain view of everyone in the room.

There was only one certain course of action: retreat to the hillside and carry out Jheeg's plan. They would hear the guard go down, rush out of the building, and be picked off one by one. There really wasn't another option.

The room was lit by two large field lamps – little more than globes on sticks. Kyrian considered the geometries. None of the thugs had their weapons drawn. Two of them were debating opening a bottle of Zeltron spiced wine and another had his hands full of a long rope of pearls.

A burly woman held a large green stone up to the light. "Only right we get some spoils."

"I ain't riskin' it." A man with cropped gray hair folded his arms and sat down on an unopened military crate. "Fa'athra'll feed you all to his pets."

"Coward." The man with the rope of pearls fished in his pocket and pulled out a small knife. "You got to skim a little. Everybody does."

"Best wine in the galaxy." The woman held the bottle out to the man on the crate. "Might be our only chance to-"

Two shots plunged the room into darkness.

Kyrian dove for the case. He bounced off someone in the dark, rolled to his hands and knees, and grabbed the case. He retreated backward, slamming into the crate he'd hidden behind. His muffled yelp was lost amid the thieves' shouts and swearing.

Kyrian fled down the hall, staying low in case any of them had flashlights. Or decided to risk shooting in the dark. He tripped over a chair in the back room, picked himself up, and raced out the door.

Straight into the guard who'd been out front.

Momentum was on Kyrian's side. The man stumbled back, blaster pointing momentarily at nothing. Kyrian ducked, swinging the case at the other man's gun hand. He missed. And kept running.

Blaster bolts pocked the swampy earth, sending up little gouts of flame. Kyrian dodged around the corner of the building and threw himself into the thick undergrowth of the hillside. He scrambled upward, slipping in the mud.

The flashes of blaster fire grew more wide and wild. He rolled over the top of the rise, slid down the other side, and sprinted into the tangled streets of Jiguuna.

.

Half an hour later, he stumbled into Jheeg's shop, dirty, bruised, and exhausted, but still clutching the case.


	3. Mission Report

A/N: Spoilers for the Imperial Agent Prologue and Hutta.

Star Wars and SW:TOR belong to Disney, Bioware, Lucasarts, George Lucas, etc... I'm merely playing in their very wonderful sandbox.

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 **Mission Report**

Kyrian wrote his report with care, trying to find a balance between the conflicting requirements that he be succinct _and_ thorough, and hiding quite a lot behind ambiguous words like "resolved." He didn't dare lie. Lying would almost certainly transform mere disobedience into treason, and he would have the shortest career on record. Never mind what that would do to his life.

 _I completed the mission. An approximation of the mission, anyway._ And now he was sitting on a shuttle to Dromund Kaas, so sick with fear he'd skipped the in-flight meal. He was pretty sure Kaliyo had misread his silent attention to the report, since she'd muttered something rude before going off to find someone more interesting to spend the flight with. He'd make it up to her later. If there _was_ a later.

 _"The mission comes first. The mission is_ _everything._ _Lives don't matter. Being "clever" doesn't matter. Nothing but the mission matters. No exceptions!_ _"_ He rubbed the scar on his cheek. How many times had he been shouted at - or worse - in training for completing the objective, but deviating from the mission? _"In the field, you'd be_ _dead_ _."_

In the field, there was no one to see _how_ he completed the mission objective. On Hutta, that had seemed like a relief, a chance to do things _his_ way. Now…

Now he had to walk into the Imperial Citadel, into Intelligence Headquarters, and pretend he'd done everything he'd been ordered to do. Pretend Karrels Javis hadn't left Hutta very much alive and intent on rescuing his surviving son. Pretend he hadn't stumbled across a Force sensitive child and let him leave with his deserter father. Pretend he hadn't saved lives and helped people in every possible way he could.

Absolutely none of which had any relation to his mission. And absolutely all of which had endangered his mission. _The Red Blade, notoriously lethal pirate, wanders Hutta, helping people and defending Evocaii. Excellent undercover work. Truly amazing._

 _And yet, I succeeded._ His failure to play a vicious thug hadn't mattered. His priorities hadn't mattered.

He took a deep breath and let it out. He wasn't a trainee any more, he was an agent. Success was all that mattered now. Everything else was irrelevant to Intelligence, or could be hidden behind official euphemisms.

 _This is what I want to do_ , he reminded himself. _Travel the galaxy, help people, protect the Empire._ He could face Keeper and tell him with complete honesty that the mission had been a success. Perhaps reporting in would always be a little frightening, but it was worth it. He fixed the faces of the people he'd helped in his mind and sat up straighter. No one had said being an Imperial Intelligence agent would be _easy._ _But it's what I want to do._


	4. After a Meeting

A/N: Indirect spoilers for the Imperial Agent mission "Dark Meeting," and a possible less than wise choice you can make in said mission.

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 **After a Meeting**

The air was cool and smelled faintly of kolto and antiseptic. An infirmary. _Why…? Oh._ Kyrian remembered now. _Darth Jadus._ He decided he didn't much want to open his eyes after all. Keeper had been very specific about how to handle the Dark Councilor in charge of Intelligence. Not arguing with him and obeying him in all respects had definitely been on that list.

A sensible person wouldn't have expressed even the mildest of doubts about Jadus's plans for the Empire. A sensible person would have agreed to be Jadus's inside person and simply reported the fact to Keeper. A sensible person would have accepted Jadus's dark blessing, however ominous it sounded. A not-so-sensible person…

There were probably things in the galaxy that hurt worse than Force Lighting, but Kyrian _never_ wanted to encounter them.

He remembered stumbling out of Jadus's chambers and finding Kaliyo in the hallway. He didn't remember much of anything after that. Clearly, she'd carried him back to Headquarters.

And was probably halfway to Hutt Space by now. He didn't blame her. The rest of the galaxy was far from perfect, but it wasn't run by people who thought hate and fear were _good_ things. _Funny how they don't mention_ that _in school._

A dangerous line of thought. Intelligence was all that stood between the people of the Empire and the Sith. _Also_ a dangerous line of thought, if one Keeper had hinted at.

 _Keeper will be furious. I'll be lucky if I'm still a field agent after this._ Other unpleasant possibilities occurred to him. _I'll be lucky if I don't end up here again._

Keeper had been remarkably lenient with his mistakes (and "mistakes"), so far. But he hadn't quite so… so _extravagantly_ messed up before. What did happen to failed field agents?

"You gonna pretend to be unconscious until your boss goes home?" Kaliyo asked, leaning over him. "I mean, it's kinda cute watching you and all, but…"

"Kaliyo? You…" He stopped himself. She wasn't likely to take surprise at her presence well. "Ah, thank you."

"You always that stupid with Sith?"

"I…" Would it really have gone any different if he'd known what would happen? Keeper _had_ warned him. Even _Jadus_ had warned him. "I hopefully won't have many opportunities," he said at last. "You may want to make it a practice to wait in the hall."

She snorted. "Gotta give you one thing, Agent. You're never dull."

"At least I'm doing something right." He got up, carefully. He was fully healed, of course - kolto did wonders - but his mind hadn't quite caught up to that fact.

She grinned and tossed him a bundle of clothes. "You're supposed to report in when you wake up."

He unfolded the bundle. A uniform. Not necessarily a bad sign. Not necessarily a good sign, either. "You may want to wait in the hall for that, as well."

Kaliyo laughed. "I'm almost starting to like you."


	5. One Good Deed

A/N: I consider the letter you get after the Light Side version of "Quiet Kill" to be one of the more hilarious in game. I also think there really should be _some_ fall out from its contents. I did take minor liberties with the letter and the missions involving the Sakoals to try to make it all make a little more sense.

With thanks to frauzet from tumblr who helped me brainstorm this.

Spoilers for the missions "The Leak" and "Quiet Kill" on Imperial Balmorra.

Content note: Mention of the Empire's proclivity for torture.

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 **One Good Deed**

"You _what_?" Kyrian stared at the message and its blinking credit voucher icon. Dead people did not clean out their joint credit accounts, not unless they wanted to become _actually_ dead. And they definitely didn't send money to their executioner as a thank you gift.

Her trail would be painfully easy to follow. She'd probably even booked her ticket in her own name. A few holocalls and Science Officer Sakoal would have an assassin after his wife and Imperial Intelligence dragging Kyrian into the part of HQ where the walls were soundproofed and the rooms had drains in the floor for easy cleaning.

"You don't look so good, Agent," Kaliyo said. "Chemish figure out you're a spy?"

"No." He swallowed. "Not so far as I know." Though being shot by an outraged terrorist would probably be an improvement.

He was on Balmorra to deal with a resistance cell, not get mixed up in marital disputes, even ones that had managed to involve stolen Imperial plans and a probable SIS agent. He'd let himself get distracted again. Fatally, this time.

It wasn't even his fault. It had been a simple misunderstanding, one he could easily have extricated himself from. But the next person Science Officer Sakoal talked to might have actually gone along with his proposal. Or had everyone involved arrested.

He should have seen Kelara Sakoal off planet himself. But there'd been no time before the meeting Sanju had set up. _I could have hidden her on the Phantom._ Where she'd be found by Imperial Intelligence if anything went wrong with his actual mission. Not healthy for either of them.

"You gonna tell me what's in the message?" Kaliyo asked. "Or just stare at it all day?"

"I'm sorry. I…" Kyrian hesitated. "Kelara Sakoal sent me a message from the Transport Station. She bought a ticket out of the system. And emptied the Sakoals' credit account."

Kaliyo whistled. "That's a special kind of stupid. What'cha gonna do now, Agent?"

"Save her from herself." _And save myself, somehow._ "Chemish will expect us to be busy with the droid factory for a while." _Chemish…_ The Republic was possibly aiding the resistance. Kelara had inadvertently aided the Republic.

The message was local, sent to his current disposable comm number. And his assignment _required_ a certain amount of aid to the resistance. If he worded his report right, even Science Officer Sakoal would have nothing to fear.

That he might still have something to fear from Science Officer Sakoal was another matter, but Kyrian didn't think the man would risk his own life and position for revenge. _As long as no one discovers this is an unrelated matter, I should be fine._ If they did, his lies would damn him.

He pushed that thought aside. "We'll catch up to her on the Transport Station. Unless you'd rather wait here?"

"Oh, no, this I gotta see."

—

The Imperial Transport Station was utilitarian, and slightly dingy. It existed to support the fleet that protected the system - Imperial interests in the system - and to control shipping to Balmorra, theoretically preventing any aid from reaching the resistance. Mostly, it handled military business and shipments to Sobrik. The one tiny passenger waiting area was in a corner, as if it were an afterthought.

Kelara Sakoal looked up at their approach, and froze.

"It's all right," Kyrian said, raising his hands reassuringly. "I'm here to help you."

"I don't understand." She blinked at him. "I'm off Balmorra. I have a ticket to…to somewhere." She held up the flimsy. "It was the first ship out accepting passengers."

"Your… Officer Sakoal knows you're alive. Let me take you somewhere he can't reach."

She stood, still looking confused. "But how?"

"Didn't think he'd notice the credit account?" Kaliyo said.

"Oh." She looked smaller than a woman of her statue should have been able to.

"It's all right," Kyrian repeated. "I have transportation." He took her elbow gently, steering her toward his ship.

It wasn't until they were in hyperspace that Kelara asked where they were going.

"Nar Shaddaa." Kyrian wished he had options to offer her, but he could think of only one way to actually keep her safe. "It's neutral space, and there's an SIS office there."

She stared at him. Kaliyo laughed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "They should be able to protect you, help you start a new life in the Republic. It's partly their fault you're in this situation."

"The Republic?" Kelara repeated. "But Gann will think I really _am_ a traitor."

Kyrian winced. "Yes, probably. I'm sorry. You won't be safe in Imperial space." _You won't be safe on your own,_ he didn't add.

She nodded. "All right."

—

The SIS office on the Promenade was intended to be secret, just as its Imperial counterpart was. Neither secret had lasted long. The SIS knew where most of the Empire's offices and listening posts were, the Empire knew where most of the SIS's offices and listening posts were, and Hutt security knew where most of both government's offices and listening posts were.

Kyrian smiled at the trio of Hutt security people lounging near the entrance to the storefront. They eyed him in puzzlement as he led Kelara to the door of the shop. _Yes, please watch me,_ he thought.

He waved to the Nautolan woman behind the counter. "Hello," he called from the doorway. "I'd like to speak to someone."

Her head-tentacles stiffened. "Please, come in."

"Thank you, but I prefer it out here."

She studied him for a moment, then pressed a button on her desk and said something too quiet for him to hear across the room.

He stepped back from the doorway. The direct approach was risky, even with Hutt security watching. He was of far more use to the SIS than the slightly confused wife of a Science Officer.

But the Nautolan merely crossed the empty shop and joined him at the door.

"As you can see, Hutt security is observing us," he said, gesturing casually at the trio. "We can both have some confidence that neither of us will try anything."

"We are being observed by my people, as well," the Nautolan said.

"Ah." Kyrian took another step back. "I have people observing as well." Not that he expected Kaliyo to do more than laugh if the SIS managed to capture him.

The Nautolan nodded, head-tentacles shifting slightly.

"This is Kelara Sakoal. She has inadvertently become a traitor to the Empire and would like asylum."

"And you have…brought her to us?"

"Yes." Kyrian wondered if perhaps he shouldn't have simply written Kelara a letter of introduction and hoped for the best. "I believe one of your agents is responsible for her difficulty. He was operating on Balmorra under the name Harez Bant."

" _Was?_ " The Nautolan's head-tentacles stiffened again.

"Ah, no, he's fine," Kyrian said quickly. "He merely had to leave Balmorra. Please, Kelara needs a safe place to make a new start. She can't stay in the Empire."

"My husband tried to have me killed," Kelara added.

The Nautolan studied them for a moment. "You wish asylum?" She said at last.

"Yes," Kelara said.

The Nautolan stepped aside. "Please, come in."

"Thank you." Kyrian smiled. "Good luck."

Kelara and the Nautolan disappeared into the shop and he turned and walked quickly back the way he'd come. Keeper would probably have words with him over this, but Kelara was merely a bored, unhappy woman. He hadn't given anything important to the Republic.

 _Chemish expects me to do far more harm._ As long as it was all part of his undercover work, Kyrian had nothing more to fear than Keeper's mild disapproval. _"You shouldn't have taken her directly to the SIS." "I couldn't risk her being killed. I'm sorry, sir."_ It would be that simple.

He hoped.

—

Some months later, the woman who had been Kelara Sakoal squinted against the bright morning sunshine on Coruscant as she walked to work. The SIS had given her a new name and found her tiny apartment and a job managing a floral shop. It wasn't the life she'd planned, but it was better than a loveless marriage on a war-torn planet.

She still wasn't used to all of the aliens, people sometimes recoiled from her accent, and there were days when she still missed Gann, though she really wasn't sure why. She didn't miss the Empire, though. That was the strange thing. And she didn't feel guilty, though she had tried to.

She'd had nothing to give the SIS, but a description of life in the Empire. And, somehow, that had been enough.

As she keyed in the code to open the store, it finally occurred to her that odd young man who'd taken her to the SIS had almost certainly been an Imperial Intelligence agent.


	6. A Little Too Late

A/N: Written for the Short Fiction Weekly Challenge prompt: That Didn't Happen/It Didn't Happen That Way. How the end of the Agent story on Nar Shaddaa would really play out for Kyrian. (Since neither of the actual choices are in-character.) And, yes, I've gone and relocated Watcher X's getaway hanger. But, really, why would he try to escape from the main spaceport that would _definitely_ have Imperials at it?

Spoilers, sort of, for the end of the Agent storyline on Nar Shaddaa.

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 **A Little Too Late**

Intelligence had traced Watcher X's escape route to a small cargo port deep in an industrial area of Nar Shaddaa. Watcher Two hadn't mentioned whether he had somehow acquired the cargo ship Kyrian and Kaliyo had been dispatched to intercept, or whether he had merely been seen stowing away.

Kyrian maneuvered the speeder expertly through Nar Shaddaa's usual heavy traffic; perhaps not as swiftly as he should have. They arrived at the hanger just in time to see Watcher X's ship take off.

Kaliyo swore and fired at the departing craft, without effect. A blaster pistol, no matter how powerful, could do no more than add a little carbon scoring to the ship's hull plates.

"Watcher Two won't be happy," Kyrian noted. _All he wanted was his freedom. I hope._

"Bullshit!" Kaliyo spun on him, blaster still in her hand. "You did this on purpose. We could've gotten here to stop him. You let him go!"

He took a step back, his hands slightly raised. "Kaliyo, you know I didn't take his offer." She'd been standing beside him when he'd refused. "I have no interest in your secrets."

She glared at him, her aim not wavering. "You thought you could get it all."

"Your secrets are safe," he repeated, fighting the urge to close his eyes. The end of the blaster barrel seemed roughly as large as his head. "If he sends anything, you can have it. Unopened. Unread." _Please._ Begging wouldn't help, not with Kaliyo. "Yes, I let him go. You _know_ me. When have I ever asked for anything in return?"

" _Keepuna koochoo._ " She slammed her blaster back into its holster. "He made a fool of us. He used us. _Nobody_ uses me." She stalked past him.

Kyrian ran a shaky hand over his face. _Never make Kaliyo angry._ He turned to follow her. "I'm sorry. If he does contact me, you can ask him for information on whomever or whatever you'd like."

She didn't respond.

"Is there any way I can make this up to you?"

She turned, a nasty smile on her face. "Oh don't tempt me, Agent. The things I could have you do…"

"There are limits," he said quickly. Kaliyo was not someone to be given free reign with his person. Or anything else.

"Too many of them," she muttered. "Give me your money."

"What?"

She held out her hand and looked meaningfully at him.

He handed over his credits without comment.

"Not bad." She pocketed the chits and climbed onto their speeder. "Now," she grinned. "I'm going to have fun. Good luck explaining this to Prissypants."

She gunned the speeder's engine and tore away, leaving him standing in front of the empty hanger.

Kyrian considered how many levels, not to mention kilometers, away Mezenti Spaceport was, sighed, and started walking.


	7. Definitely Treason

A/N: And the other protagonist from _The Enemy of My Enemy Is...?_ makes an appearance.

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 **Definitely Treason**

Tatooine was unforgivingly hot and painfully bright, but the endless stretches of dune were convenient for making sure one wasn't being followed. Kyrian had flown the speeder in a giant loop, circling back around to the spine of rocks that stretched past the Imperial base. The hopefully still quiet Imperial base.

He'd sent Kaliyo on an errand, manufactured one for himself, and taken off into the sands, hoping he could cover his planned trail well enough that no one would ever suspect. Springing prisoners from Imperial custody was beyond reckless and well into suicidal. Summary execution was the _best_ he could hope for if he were caught.

But no one had followed him. There were no swarms of fellow Imperials scouring the desert and the rocky outcrops for the missing prisoner. And no sand people or hostile wildlife greeted him as he brought the speeder in close, keeping the rocks between him and the base.

"Jezari?" He didn't dare call loudly. Sound carried strangely in the dunes. "Captain?"

As if in answer, the base sirens went off.

"Jezari!" Panic leaked into his voice. They had a minute, maybe two, before the first of the searches reached the rocks. The spine was the only logical place to hide for kilometers.

She scrambled down from her hiding place in a skittering of rocks and sand. In the bright sun, her scrapes and bruises – courtesy of the Empire – were uncomfortably clear. There had been no time to retrieve her weapons when he'd freed her, but for a moment he thought she might try to commandeer the speeder.

"Scoot back," she growled. "I'm driving."

He didn't argue.

She slued the speeder around and sent it screaming back down the spine of rocks, driving with no apparent consideration for anything but putting as much distance between them and the base as possible.

It wasn't until they sped into an outpost guarded by uniformed Republic soldiers that it occurred to Kyrian that he might have other concerns than being caught by his own side. But she pulled to a stop in front of what was obviously a cantina.

"I've gotta call my ship before they do anything stupid," she said. "And I need a shower, a drink, and a medpack. Tell me you've got credits they'll take."

He handed her a credstick. "Are you all right?"

She stared at him for a moment. "Oh, yeah. I get captured by Imperials all the time. No! I'm scared and mad and really _confused_. You stay put. Maybe this will all make sense after I pour water on my head!"


End file.
